MICHELANGELO 

A3  A  8CULFTOR 


-  i 


MASTERS    IN   ART 

A      SERIES      OF       ILLUSTRATED 
MONOGRAPHS:     ISSUED     MONTHLY 


PART   16 


APRIL,    1901 


VOLUME    2 


£$    a 


CONTENTS 


PLATE  I. 
PLATE  II. 
PLATE  III. 
PLATE  IV. 
PLATE  V. 
PLATE  VI. 
PLATE  VII. 


DAVID 

Pi  ETA 

MADONNA  AND  CHILD 
BOUND  CAPTIVE 
MADONNA  AND  CHILD 
TOMB  OF  LORENZO  DE'  MEDICI 


ACADEMY:  FLORENCE 

ST.  PETER'S:  ROME 

NATIONAL  MUSEUM:  FLORENCE 

LOUVRE :  PARIS 

CHURCH  OF  NOTRE  DAME:  BRUGES 
SACRISTY  OF  SAN  LORENZO:  FLORENCE 


:!L  PENSIEROSO'  (TOMB  OF  LORENZO  DE'  MEDICI) 

SACRISTY  OF  SAN  LORENZO:  FLORENCE 

PLATE  VIII.   MOSES  CHURCH  OF  SAN  PIETRO  IN  VINCOLI:  ROME 

PLATE  IX.      TOMB  OF  GIULIANO  DE'  MEDICI  SACRISTY  OF  SAN  LORENZO:  FLORENCE 

PLATE  X.        GIULIANO  DE'  MEDICI  (Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici) 

SACRISTY  OF  SAN  LORENZO:  FLORENCE 

PORTRAIT  OF  MICHELANGELO,  FROM  A  MEDAL  BY  LEONE  LEONI:  SOUTH  KENSINGTON  MU- 
SEUM: LONDON  PAGE  20 
THE  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO  PAGE  21 

J.  A.  SYMONDS 
THE  ART  OF  MICHELANGELO  PAGE  28 

CRITICISMS  BY  PERKINS,  GUILLAUME,  REYMOND,  LUBKE 
THE  WORKS  OF  MICHELANGELO  .IN  SCULPTURE:  DESCRIPTIONS  OF  THE  PLATES  AND  A  LIST 

OF  SCULPTURES  PAGE  34 

Photo-Engravings  by  Suffolk  Engraving  Company:  Boston.     Priss-work  tjr  tbt  Evtrttt  Prtss:  Boston. 


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FLORENTINE     SCHOOL 


MASTFRS  IX  AHT     PLATE  I 


MICHELANGELO 

DAVID 
ACADEMY,  FLOHENCE 


MASTKKS   I.V    AUT     PLATE  II 


MICHELANGELO 

PIETA 
ST.    PETEK'S.   HOME 


•ASTERS    IX  AKT     PLATE  III 

PHOTOGRAPH    BY   ALINARI 


MICHELANGELO 

MADONNA  AND  CHILD 

NATIONAL  MUSEUM,  FLORENCE 


RASTERS  IN  AKT  PLATE  rv 

PHOTOGRAPH  BY  BRAUN,  CLEMENT  A  CIE. 


BOUND   CAPTIVE 
LOUVKE,  PAKIS 


•ASTERS   TX  ABT     PLATE  V 


MICHELANGELO 

MADONNA  AND  CHILD 

C.Iir  licit  OF  XOTHE   DAME,   BHTJGES 


MASTKHS  IK"  AHT     PLATE  VI 


MICHELANGELO 

TOMB  OF  LOHEXZO  DE'  MEDICI 

IL  JPEXSIF.KOSO,   TWILIGHT,   DAWN 

SACRISTY  OF  SAX  LOKEXZO,  FLOKEXCE 


rr 


HASTEHS   IN  ART     PLATE  VII 

PHOTOGRAPH   BY  AL.NARI 


MICHEL  A 3f  GELO 
IL  PEJVSIEKOSO 

TOMB  OK  X.OKENZO  DE?  MEDICI 
SAGKISTY  OP  SAX  LOKEJSTZO,  FLORENCE 


MASTKKS    ix  AHT    PLATE  viu 

PHOTOGRAPH   8V   ANDERSON 


MJCHELAXGEL.O 

MOSES 
CHUJKCir  OF  SAX  PIETKO  IJf  VINCOLI,  HOME 


MASTERS  IK-  AHT     PLATE  IX 


MICHELAXGELO 

TOM  B  OF  GIUUAir O  DE'  MELIIC1 

GUTLIAXO  IJE'  MKDICI,  NIGHT,  DAY 

SACHISTV  OF  SAX  I.OKEXZO.   KLOHEXCE 


MASTERS    IX  AKT     PLATE  X 


MICHEr.AXGEL.O 

GIULIAXO  BE'  MEDICI 

TOMJ1  OF  GrtLLIAXO  BE' MEDJCI 

SACRISTY  OF  SAX  LOREXZO,  FLOKEJJCE 


MICHKf.AXUELiO   MEDAL,  IX  SILVKK       SOUTH  KKXS1XGTOX  M USEUM.  LOXDOX 

Probably  the  most  genuine  contemporary  portrait  of  Michelangelo  is  the  medal,  showing 
his  profile,  by  his  warm  friend,  the  sculptor  Leone  Leoni.  It  seems  certain  that  this  medal 
was  cast  in  1560,  when  Michelangelo  was  eighty-five  years  old,  and  therefore  that  the 
inscription  "yErs.  ANN.  88  "  is  an  error.  Condivi  describes  Michelangelo  at  seventy- 
nine,  as  of  middle  height,  with  broad  shoulders,  thin  legs,  a  face  small  in  proportion  to  his 
head,  a  nose  broken  from  a  blow  "from  that  beastly  and  proud  man  Torrigiano  de' 
Torrigiani,"  thin  lips,  small,  ever  varying  gray  eyes,  black  hair,  and  thin  forked  beard 
streaked  with  gray. 


M  ASTERS    IN     ART 


BORN    1475:    DIED    1564 
FLORENTINE    SCHOOL 

In  this  issue  only  Michelangelo's  works  in  sculpture  are  illustrated.  His  achievements 
in  painting  will  be  considered  in  the  next  number  of  this  SERIES. 

JOHN     ADDINGTON     SYMONDS  'RENAISSANCE     IN     ITALY' 

MICHELANGELO  was  born  in  1475,  at  Caprese,  where  his  father, 
Lodovico,  held  the  office  of  podesta.  His  ancestry  was  honorable  ;  the 
Buonarroti  even  claimed  descent,  but  apparently  without  due  reason,  from 
the  princely  house  of  Canossa.  His  mother  gave  him  to  be  nursed  by  a  stone- 
cutter's wife  at  Settignano,  so  that  in  after-days  he  used  to  say  that  he  had 
drawn  in  the  love  of  chisels  and  mallets  with  his  nurse's  milk. 

As  he  grew,  the  boy  developed  an  invincible  determination  toward  the  arts. 
Lodovico,  from  motives  of  pride  and  prudence,  opposed  his  wishes,  but  with- 
out success,  and  at  last  Michelangelo  induced  his  father  to  sign  articles 
apprenticing  him  to  the  painter  Domenico  Ghirlandajo.  In  Ghirlandajo's 
workshop  he  learned  the  rudiments  of  art,  helping  in  the  execution  of  the 
frescos  at  Santa  Maria  Novella,  until  such  time  as  the  pupil  proved  his  su- 
periority as  a  draughtsman  to  his  teacher. 

After  leaving  Ghirlandajo's  bottega,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  Michelangelo 
procured  an  introduction  to  the  Medici,  and  frequented  those  gardens  of  San 
Marco  where  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  had  placed  his  collection  of  antiquities. 
There  the  youth  discovered  his  vocation.  Having  begged  a  piece  of  marble 
and  a  chisel,  he  struck  out  a  P'aun's  mask.  One  is  still  shown  in  the  Bargello 
as  his  work.  It  is  worth  noticing  that  Michelangelo  seems  to  have  done  no 
merely  prentice  work.  Not  a  fragment  of  his  labor  from  the  earliest  to  the 
latest  was  insignificant.  There  was  nothing  tentative  in  his  genius.  Into  art, 
as  into  a  rich  land,  he  came  and  conquered.  .  .  . 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici  discerned  in  Michelangelo  a  youth  of  eminent  genius, 
and  took  the  lad  into  his  own  household.  The  astonished  father  found  him- 
self suddenly  provided  with  a  comfortable  post  and  courted  for  the  sake  of 
the  young  sculptor.  In  Lorenzo's  palace  the  real  education  of  Michelangelo 
began.  He  sat  at  the  same  table  with  Ficino,  Pico,  and  Poliziano,  listening 
to  dialogues  on  Plato  and  drinking  in  the  golden  poetry  of  Greece.  At  the 


. 

22  4Ha3tcrrf     in     art 

2*i  H  **  !•  £  v  JP      ill      .-ex  r  i 

vT  >-^ 

same  time  he  heard  the  preaching  of  Savonarola.  Another  portion  of  his  soul 
was  touched,  and  he  acquired  that  deep  religious  tone  which  gives  its  majesty 
and  terror  to  the  Sistine.  While  Michelangelo  was  thus  engaged  in  studying 
antique  sculpture  and  in  listening  to  Pico  and  Savonarola,  he  carved  his  first 
bas-relief,  a  '  Battle  of  Hercules  with  the  Centaurs.' 

Meantime  Lorenzo  died.  His  successor,  Piero,  set  the  young  man,  it  is 
said,  to  model  a  snow  statue,  and  then  melted  like  a  shape  of  snow  himself 
down  from  his  pedestal  of  power  in  Florence.  Upon  the  expulsion  of  the 
tyrant  and  the  proclamation  of  the  new  republic  it  was  dangerous  for  house- 
friends  of  the  Medici  to  be  seen  in  the  city.  Michelangelo  therefore  made 
his  way  to  Bologna,  where  he  spent  some  months  in  the  palace  of  Gian 
Francesco  Aldovrandini,  studying  Dante,  and  working  at  an  angel-  for  the 
shrine  of  St.  Dominic.  As  soon,  however,  as  it  seemed  safe  to  do  so,  he 
returned  to  Florence ;  and  to  this  period  belongs  the  lost  statue  of  the 
'Sleeping  Cupid,'  which  was  sold  as  an  antique  to  the  Cardinal  RafFaello 
Riario. 

A  dispute  about  the  price  of  this  '  Cupid  '  took  Michelangelo,  in  1496,  to 
Rome,  where  it  was  destined  that  the  greater  portion  of  his  life  should  be 
spent  and  his  noblest  works  of  art  should  be  produced.  Here,  while  the  Bor- 
gias  were  turning  the  Vatican  into  a  den  of  thieves  and  harlots,  he  executed 
the  purest  of  all  his  statues,  a  'Pieta'  in  marble.  In  1501  he  returned  to 
Florence,  where  he  stayed  until  the  year  1505.  This  period  was  fruitful  of 
results  on  which  his  after-fame  depended.  The  great  statue  of '  David,'  the 
two  unfinished  medallions  in  relief  of  the  Madonna,  the  '  Holy  Family '  of 
the  Tribune,  and  the  cartoon  of  the  '  Bathing  Soldiers  '  were  now  produced  ; 
and  no  man's  name,  not  even  Leonardo's,  stood  higher  in  esteem  thence- 
forward. 

Since  Michelangelo  at  this  time  was  employed  in  the  service  of  masters  who 
had  superseded  his  old  friends  and  patrons,  it  may  be  well  to  review  here  his 
attitude  in  general  toward  the  house  of  Medici.  Throughout  his  lifetime  there 
continued  a  conflict  between  the  artist  and  the  citizen,  the  artist  owing  edu- 
cation and  employment  to  successive  members  of  that  house,  the  citizen  re- 
senting their  despotism  and  at  times  doing  all  that  in  him  lay  to  keep  them 
out  of  Florence. .  As  a  patriot,  as  the  student  of  Dante  and  the  disciple  of 
Savonarola,  Michelangelo  detested  tyrants.  As  an  artist,  owing  his  advance- 
ment to  Lorenzo,  he  hacl  accepted  favors  binding  him  by  ties  of  gratitude  to 
the  Medici,  and  even  involving  him  in  the  downfall  of  their  house.  For 
Leo  X.  he  undertook  to  build  the  facade  of  San  Lorenzo  and  the  Laurentian 
Library.  For  Clement  VII.  he  began  the  statues  for  the  Medici  tombs.  Yet, 
while  accepting  these  commissions  from  Medicean  popes,  he  could  not  keep 
his  tongue  from  speaking  openly  against  their  despotism.  During  the  siege  of 
Florence,  in  1529,  he  fortified  San  Miniato,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  named 
one  of  the  Otto  di  Guerra  chosen  for  the  express  purpose  of  defending  Flor- 
ence against  the  Medici ;  yet  after  the  fall  of  the  city  he  made  peace  with 
Clement  by  consenting  to  finish  the  tombs  of  San  Lorenzo.  When  Clement 
VII.  died  the  last  representative  of  Michelangelo's  old  patrons  perished,  and 


jfticftclangelo  23 

the  sculptor  was  free  to  quit  Florence  forever.  It  is  thus  clear  that  the  pa- 
triot, the  artist,  and  the  man  of  honor  were  at  odds  in  him.  Loyalty  obliged 
him  to  serve  the  family  to  whom  he  owed  so  much ;  he  was,  moreover,  de- 
pendent for  opportunities  of  doing  great  work  on  the  very  men  whose  public 
policy  he  execrated.  Hence  arose  a  compromise  and  a  confusion,  hard  to 
accommodate  with  our  conception  of  his  upright  and  unyielding  temper. 
Only  by  voluntary  exile,  and  after  age  had  made  him  stubborn  to  resist  se- 
ductive offers,  could  Michelangelo  declare  himself  a  citizen  who  held  no 
truce  with  tyrants. 

This  digression,  though  necessary  for  the  right  understanding  of  Michel- 
angelo's relation  to  the  Medici,  has  carried  me  beyond  his  Florentine  resi- 
dence in  1501—1505.  The  great  achievement  of  that  period  was  not  the 
'  David,'  but  the  cartoon  for  the  '  Bathing  Soldiers.'  The  hall  of  the  Consiglio 
Grande  had  been  opened,  and  one  wall  had  been  assigned  to  Leonardo. 
Michelangelo  was  now  invited  by  the  signory  to  prepare  a  design  for  another 
side  of  the  state  chamber.  When  he  displayed  his  cartoon  to  the  Florentines 
they  pronounced  that  Da  Vinci,  hitherto  the  undisputed  prince  of  painting, 
was  surpassed.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  form  an  opinion  in  this  matter, 
since  both  cartoons  are  lost  beyond  recovery.  We  only  know  that,  as  Cellini 
says,  "while  they  lasted,  they  formed  the  school  of  the  whole  world,"  and 
made  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  art.  When  we  inquire  what  was  the  subject 
of  Michelangelo's  famous  picture,  we  find  that  he  had  aimed  at  representing 
nothing  of  more  moment  than  a  group  of  soldiers  suddenly  surprised  by  a 
trumpet-call  to  battle  while  bathing  in  the  Arno,  —  a  crowd  of  naked  men 
in  every  posture  indicating  haste,  anxiety,  and  struggle.  Not  for  its  intellec- 
tual meaning,  not  for  its  color,  not  for  its  sentiment,  was  this  design  so 
highly  prized.  Its  science  won  the  admiration  of  artists  and  the  public. 

Meanwhile,  a  new  pope  had  been  elected,  and  in  1505  Michelangelo  was 
once  more  called  to  Rome.  Throughout  his  artist's  life  he  oscillated  thus 
between  Rome  and  Florence  —  Florence  the  city  of  his  ancestry,  and  Rome 
the  city  of  his  soul ;  Florence  where  he  learned  his  art,  and  Rome  where  he 
displayed  what  art  can  do  of  highest.  Julius  was  a  patron  of  different  stamp 
from  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent.  Between  Julius  and  Michelangelo  there 
existed  the  strong  bond  of  sympathy  due  to  community  of  temperament. 
Both  aimed  at  colossal  achievements  in  their  respective  fields  of  action.  Both 
were  uomini  terribilly  to  use  a  phrase  denoting  vigor  of  character  made  for- 
midable by  an  abrupt,  uncompromising  temper.  Both  worked  con  fur -ia,  with 
the  impetuosity  of  daemonic  natures,  and  both  left  the  impress  of  their  indi- 
viduality graven  indelibly  upon  their  age. 

Julius  ordered  the  sculptor  to  prepare  his  mausoleum.  Michelangelo  asked, 
"  Where  am  I  to  place  it  ?  "  Julius  replied,  "  In  St.  Peter's."  But  the  old 
basilica  was  too  small  for  this  ambitious  pontifPs  sepulchre  as  designed  by  the 
audacious  artist.  It  was  therefore  decreed  that  a  new  St.  Peter's  should  be 
built  to  hold  it.  In  this  way  the  two  great  labors  of  Buonarroti's  life  were 
mapped  out  for  him  in  a  moment.  But,  by  a  strange  contrariety  of  fate,  to 
Bramante  and  San  Gallo  fell  respectively  the  planning  and  the  spoiling  of 


24  4fta£ter0ttatt 

St.  Peter's.  It  was  only  in  extreme  old  age  that  Michelangelo  crowned  it 
with  that  world's  miracle,  the  dome.  The  mausoleum,  to  form  a  canopy  for 
which  the  building  was  designed,  dwindled  down  at  last  to  the  statue  of 
*  Moses  '  thrust  out  of  the  way  in  the  church  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli.  "La 
tragedia  della  Sepoltura"  as  Condi  vi  aptly  terms  the  history  of  Julius'  monu- 
ment, began  thus  in  1505  and  dragged  on  till  1545.  Rarely  did  Michelangelo 
undertake  a  work  commensurate  with  his  creative  power  but  something 
came  to  interrupt  its  execution ;  while  tasks  outside  his  sphere,  for  which  he 
never  bargained,  —  the  painting  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  the  facade  of  San 
Lorenzo,  the  fortification  of  San  Miniato,  —  were  thrust  upon  him  in  the 
midst  of  other  more  congenial  labors.  What  we  possess  of  his  achievements 
is  a  torso  of  his  huge  designs. 

Julius'  tomb,  as  Michelangelo  conceived  it,  would  have  been  the  most 
stupendous  monument  of  sculpture  in  the  world.  Of  this  gigantic  scheme 
only  one  imperfect  drawing  now  remains.  The  '  Moses '  and  the  '  Bound 
Captives '  are  all  that  Michelangelo  accomplished.  For  forty  years  the 
'  Moses '  remained  in  his  workshop.  For  forty  years  he  cherished  a  hope 
that  his  plan  might  still  in  part  be  executed,  complaining  the  while  that  it 
would  have  been  better  for  him  to  have  made  sulphur  matches  all  his  life 
than  to  have  taken  up  the  desolating  artist's  trade.  "  Every  day,"  he  cries, 
"  I  am  stoned  as  though  I  had  crucified  Christ.  My  youth  has  been  lost, 
bound  hand  and  foot  to  this  tomb." 

Michelangelo  spent  eight  months  at  this  period  among  the  stone-quarries 
of  Carrara,  selecting  marble  for  the  pope's  tomb.  In  November,  1505,  the 
marble  was  shipped,  and  the  quays  of  Rome  were  soon  crowded  with  blocks 
destined  for  the  mausoleum.  But  when  the  sculptor  arrived  he  found  that 
enemies  had  been  poisoning  the  pope's  mind  against  him,  and  that  Julius 
had  abandoned  the  scheme  of  the  mausoleum.  On  six  successive  days  he 
was  denied  entrance  to  the  Vatican,  and  the  last  time  with  such  rudeness 
that  he  determined  to  quit  Rome.  He  hurried  straightway  to  his  house,  sold 
his  effects,  mounted,  and  rode  without  further  ceremony  toward  Florence, 
sending  to  the  pope  a  written  message  bidding  him  to  seek  for  Michel- 
angelo elsewhere  in  future  than  in  Rome.  It  is  related  that  Julius,  anxious 
to  recover  what  had  been  so  lightly  lost,  sent  several .  couriers  to  bring 
him  back.  Michelangelo  announced  that  he  intended  to  accept  the  Sul- 
tan's commission  for  building  a  bridge  at  Pera,  and  refused  to  be  persuaded 
to  return  to  Rome.  When  the  sculptor  had  reached  Florence  Julius  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Soderini,  who,  unwilling  to  displease  the  pope,  induced 
Michelangelo  to  seek  the  pardon  of  the  master  he  had  so  abruptly  quitted. 
It  was  at  Bologna  that  they  met.  "  You  have  waited  thus  long,  it  seems," 
said  the  pope,  well  satisfied  but  surly,  "  till  we  should  come  ourselves  to  seek 
you."  The  prelate  who  had  introduced  the  sculptor  now  began  to  make  ex- 
cuses for  him,  whereupon  Julius  turned  in  a  fury  upon  the  officious  courtier, 
and  had  him  beaten  from  his  presence.  A  few  days  after  this  encounter 
Michelangelo  was  ordered  to  cast  a  bronze  statue  of  Julius  (later  destroyed) 
for  the  frontispiece  of  St.  Petronius  of  that  city. 


jftic&ciangelo  25 

It  seems  that  Michelangelo's  flight  from  Rome  in  1506  was  due  not  only 
to  his  disappointment  about  the  tomb,  but  also  to  his  fear  lest  Julius  should 
give  him  uncongenial  work  to  do.  Bramante,  if  we  may  believe  the  old 
story,  had  whispered  that  it  was  ill-omened  for  a  man  to  build  his  own  sepul- 
chre, and  that  it  would  be  well  to  employ  the  sculptor's  genius  upon  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel.  Accordingly,  on  his  return  to  Rome  in  1508, 
this  new  task  was  allotted  him.  In  vain  did  Michelangelo  remind  his  master 
of  the  months  wasted  in  the  quarries  of  Carrara ;  in  vain  he  pointed  to  his 
designs  for  the  monument,  and  pleaded  that  he  was  not  a  painter  by  profes- 
sion. Julius  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  should  paint  the  Sistine.  What- 
ever the  sculptor's  original  reluctance  may  have  been,  it  was  speedily  over- 
come ;  and  the  cartoons  for  the  ceiling,  projected  with  the  unity  belonging 
to  a  single  great  conception,  were  ready  by  the  summer  of  1508. 

The  difficulty  of  his  new  task  aroused  the  artist's  energy.  If  we  could 
accept  the  legend  whereby  contemporaries  expressed  their  admiration  for  this 
Titanic  labor,  we  should  have  to  believe  the  impossible,  —  that  only  twenty 
months  were  devoted  to  the  execution  of  a  series  of  paintings  almost  un- 
equalled in  their  delicacy,  and  surpassed  by  few  single  masterpieces  in  extent. 
Though  some  uncertainty  remains  as  to  the  exact  dates  of  the  commence- 
ment and  completion  of  the  vault,  we  now  know  that  Michelangelo  con- 
tinued painting  it  at  intervals  during  four  successive  years  ;  and  though  we 
are  not  accurately  informed  about  his  helpers,  we  no  longer  can  doubt  that 
able  craftsmen  yielded  him  assistance.  There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that 
he  began  his  painting  during  the  autumn  of  1508  ;  and  before  the  end  of 
the  year  1512  the  whole  was  completed.  The  conception  was  entirely  his 
own.  The  execution,  except  in  subordinate  details  and  in  matters  pertaining 
to  the  mason's  craft,  was  also  his.  The  rapidity  with  which  he  labored  was 
astounding.  Nor  need  we  strip  the  romance  from  that  time-honored  tale  of 
the  great  master's  solitude.  Lying  on  his  back  beneath  the  dreary  vault,  com- 
muning with  Dante,  Savonarola,  and  the  Hebrew  prophets  in  the  intervals 
of  labor,  locking  up  the  chapel  doors  in  order  to  elude  the  jealous  curiosity 
of  rivals,  eating  but  little  and  scarcely  sleeping,  he  accomplished  in  sixteen 
months  the  first  part  of  his  gigantic  task.  From  time  to  time  Julius  climbed 
the  scaffold  and  inspected  the  painter's  progress.  Dreading  lest  death  should 
come  before  the  work  was  finished,  he  kept  crying,  "When  will  you  make 
an  end?"  "When  I  can,"  answered  the  painter.  "You  seem  to  want," 
rejoined  the  petulant  old  man,  "that  I  should  have  you  thrown  down  from 
the  scaffold."  Then  Michelangelo's  brush  stopped.  The  machinery  was 
removed,  and  the  frescos  were  uncovered  in  their  incompleteness  to  the  eyes 
of  Rome.  .  .  . 

The  star  of  Raphael,  meanwhile,  had  arisen  over  Rome.  It  does  not  appear 
that  the  two  artists  engaged  in  petty  rivalries,  or  that  they  came  much  into 
personal  contact  with  each  other.  While  Michelangelo  was  so  framed  that  he 
could  learn  from  no  man,  Raphael  gladly  learned  of  Michelangelo ;  and  after 
the  uncovering  of  the  Sistine  frescos,  his  manner  showed  evident  signs  of 
alteration. 


26  jHa£ter£in&rt 

After  the  death  of  Julius,  Leo  X.,  in  character  the  reverse  of  his  fiery  prede- 
cessor, and  by  temperament  unsympathetic  to  the  austere  Michelangelo,  found 
nothing  better  for  the  sculptor's  genius  than  to  set  him  at  work  upon  the  facade 
of  San  Lorenzo  at  Florence.  The  better  part  of  the  years  between  1516  and 
1520  was  spent  in  quarrying  marble  at  Carrara,  Pietra  Santa,  and  Seravezza. 
This  is  the  most  arid  and  unfruitful  period  of  Michelangelo's  long  life,  a  period 
of  delays  and  thwarted  schemes  and  servile  labors.  What  makes  the  sense 
of  disappointment  greater  is  that  the  facade  of  San  Lorenzo  was  not  even 
finished.  We  hurry  over  this  wilderness  of  wasted  months,  and  arrive  at 
another  epoch  of  artistic  production. 

Already  in  1520  the  Cardinal  Giulio  de'  Medici  had  conceived  the  notion 
of  building  a  sacristy  in  San  Lorenzo  to  receive  the  monuments  of  Cosimo, 
the  founder  of  the  house  ;  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent ;  Giuliano,  Duke  of 
Nemours ;  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino ;  Leo  X.,  and  himself.  To  Michel- 
angelo was  committed  the  design,  and  in  1521  he  began  to  apply  himself  to 
the  work.  This  new  undertaking  occupied  him  at  intervals  between  1521 
and  1 534,  a  space  of  time  decisive  for  the  fortunes  of  the  Medici  in  Florence. 
Leo  died,  and  Giulio,  after  a  few  years,  succeeded  him  as  Clement  VII.  Rome 
was  sacked  by  the  Imperial  troops ;  then  Michelangelo  quitted  the  statues 
and  helped  to  defend  his  native  city  against  the  Prince  of  Orange.  After  the 
failure  of  the  Republicans  he  was  recalled  to  his  labors  by  command  of  Clement. 
Sullenly  and  sadly  he  quarried  marbles  for  the  sacristy.  Sadly  and  sullenly  he 
used  his  chisel  year  by  year,  making  the  very  stones  cry  that  shame  and  ruin 
were  the  doom  of  his  country.  At  last,  in  1534,  Clement  died.  Then  Michel- 
angelo flung  down  his  mallet.  The  monuments  remained  forever  unfinished, 
and  the  sculptor  set  foot  in  Florence  no  more. 

Michelangelo  had  now  reached  his  fifty-ninth  year.  Leonardo  and  Raphael 
had  already  passed  away,  and  were  remembered  as  the  giants  of  a  bygone  age 
of  gold.  Correggio  was  in  his  last  year.  Andrea  del  Sarto  was  dead.  Nowhere 
except  at  Venice  did  Italian  art  still  flourish  ;  and  the  mundane  style  of  Titian 
was  not  to  the  sculptor's  taste.  He  had  overlived  the  greatness  of  his  country, 
and  saw  Italy  in  ruins.  Yet  he  was  destined  to  survive  another  thirty  years, 
and  to  witness  still  worse  days.  When  we  call  Michelangelo  the  interpreter 
of  the  burden  and  the  pain  of  the  Renaissance,  we  must  remember  this  long, 
weary  old  age,  during  which  in  solitude  and  silence  he  watched  the  extinc- 
tion of  Florence,  the  institution  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the  abasement  of  the 
Italian  spirit  beneath  the  tyranny  of  Spain.  His  sonnets,  written  chiefly  in 
this  latter  period  of  life,  turn  often  on  the  thought  of  death.  His  love  of  art 
yields  to  religious  hope  and  fear,  and  he  bemoans  a  youth  and  manhood  spent 
in  vanity. 

In  1534  the  Cardinal  Alessandro  Farnese  was  made  pope  under  the  name 
of  Paul  III.  Michelangelo  had  shed  lustre  on  the  reigns  of  three  popes,  his 
predecessors.  After  Julius,  Leo,  and  Clement,  the  time  was  now  come  for 
the  heroic  craftsman  to  serve  Paul.  The  pope  found  him  at  work  in  his  bottega 
on  the  tomb  of  Julius  ;  for  the  "  tragedy  of  the  mausoleum  "  still  dragged  on. 
The  statue  of  Moses  however  was  finished.  "  That,"  said  Paul,  "  is  enough 


jtticfjclangelo  27 

for  one  pope.  Give  me  your  contract  with  the  Duke  of  Urbino  ;  I  will  tear  it. 
Have  I  waited  all  these  years,  and  now  that  I  am  pope  at  last,  shall  I  not  have 
you  for  myself?  I  want  you  in  the  Sistine  Chapel."  Accordingly  Michelan- 
gelo, who  had  already  made  cartoons  for  the  '  Last  Judgment '  during  the  life 
of  Clement,  once  more  laid  aside  the  chisel  and  took  up  the  brush.  For  eight 
years,  between  1534  and  1542,  he  labored  at  the  fresco,  devoting  his  terrible 
genius  to  a  subject  worthy  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived. 

After  the  painting  of  the  '  Last  Judgment,'  one  more  great  labor  was 
reserved  for  him.  By  a  brief  of  September  1535,  Paul  III.  had  made  him 
the  chief  architect,  as  well  as  sculptor  and  painter,  of  the  Holy  See.  He  was 
now  called  upon  to  superintend  the  building  of  St.  Peter's,  and  to  this  task, 
undertaken  for  the  repose  of  his  soul  without  emolument,  he  devoted  the  last 
years  of  his  life,  and  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  as  seen  from  Tivoli  or  the  Alban 
hills,  like  a  cloud  upon  the  Campagna,  is  Buonarroti's. 

Michelangelo's  thoughts  meanwhile  were  turned  more  and  more,  as  time 
advanced,  to  piety  ;  and  many  of  his  sonnets  breathe  an  almost  ascetic  spirit 
of  religion.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  these  last  years  were  also  the  happiest 
and  calmest.  Though  his  brothers  had  passed  away  before  him  one  by  one, 
his  nephew  Leonardo  had  married,  and  begotten  a  son  called  Michelangelo. 
Thus  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  hoping  that  his  name  would  endure  and  flour- 
ish, as  indeed  it  has  done  almost  to  this  very  day  in  Florence.  What  consola- 
tion this  thought  must  have  brought  him  is  clear  to  those  who  have  studied 
his  correspondence  and  observed  the  tender  care  and  continual  anxiety  he  had 
for  his  kinsmen.  Wealth  now  belonged  to  him  ;  but  he  had  never  cared  for 
money,  and  he  continued  to  live  like  a  poor  man, -.dressing  soberly  and  eating 
sparely,  often  taking  but  one  meal  in  the  day,  and  that  of  bread  and  wine. 
He  slept  little,  and  rose  by  night  to  work  upon  his  statues,  wearing  a  cap 
with  a  candle  stuck  in  front  of  it  that  he  might  see  where  to  drive  the  chisel 
home.  During  his  whole  life  he  had  been  solitary,  partly  by  preference,  partly 
by  devotion  to  his  art,  and  partly  because  he  kept  men  at  a  distance  by  his 
manner.  Not  that  Michelangelo  was  sour  or  haughty  ;  but  he  spoke  his  mind 
out  very  plainly,  had  no  tolerance  for  fools,  and  was  apt  to  fly  into  passions. 
Time  had  now  softened  his  temper  and  removed  all  causes  of  discourage- 
ment. He  had  survived  every  rival,  and  the  world  was  convinced  of  his 
supremacy.  Princes  courted  him  ;  the  Count  of  Canossa  was  proud  to  claim 
him  for  a  kinsman  ;  strangers,  when  they  visited  Rome,  were  eager  to  behold 
in  him  its  greatest  living  wonder.  His  old  age  was  the  serene  and  splendid 
evening  of  a  toilsome  day.  But  better  than  all  this,  he  now  enjoyed  both  love 
and  friendship. 

If  Michelangelo  could  ever  have  been  handsome  is  more  than  doubtful. 
Early  in  his  youth  a  quarrelsome  fellow  pupil  broke  his  nose  with  a  blow  of 
the  fist.  Henceforth  the  artist's  soul  looked  forth  from  a  sad  face,  with  small 
gray  eyes,  flat  nostrils,  and  rugged  weight  of  jutting  brows.  Good  care  was 
thus  taken  that  light  love  should  not  trifle  with  the  man  who  was  destined  to 
be  the  prophet  of  his  age  in  art.  He  seemed  incapable  of  attaching  himself  to 
any  merely  mortal  object,  and  wedded  the  ideal.  In  that  century  of  intrigue 


28  ftL&fitttft    in    <&  r  t 

and  amour,  we  hear  of  nothing  to  imply  that  Michelangelo  was  a  lover  till 
he  reached  the  age  of  sixty.  How  he  may  have  loved  in  the  earlier  periods 
of  his  life,  whereof  no  record  now  remains,  can  only  be  guessed  from  the 
tenderness  and  passion  outpoured  in  the  poems  of  his  later  years.  That 
his  morality  was  pure  and  his  converse  without  stain  is  emphatically  witnessed 
by  both  Vasari  and  Condivi.  But  that  his  emotion  was  intense,  and  that  to 
beauty  in  all  its  human  forms  he  was  throughout  his  life  a  slave,  we  have  his 
own  sonnets  to  prove. 

In  the  year  1534  he  first  became  acquainted  with  the  noble  lady  Vittoria, 
daughter  of  Fabrizio  Colonna,  and  widow  of  the  Marquis  of  Pescara.  She 
was  then  aged  forty-four.  Living  in  retirement  in  Rome,  she  employed  her 
leisure  with  philosophy  and  poetry.  Artists  and  men  of  letters  were  admitted 
to  her  society.  Among  the  subjects  she  had  most  at  heart  was  the  reform  of 
the  Church  and  the  restoration  of  religion  to  its  evangelical  purity.  Between 
her  and  Michelangelo  a  tender  affection  sprang  up,  based  upon  the  sympathy 
of  ardent  and  high-seeking  natures.  If  love  be  the  right  name  for  this  exalted 
and  yet  fervid  attachment,  Michelangelo  may  be  said  to  have  loved  her  with 
all  the  pent-up  forces  of  his  heart.  When  they  were  together  in  Rome  they 
met  frequently  for  conversation  on  the  themes  of  art  and  piety  they  both  held 
dear.  When  they  were  separated  they  exchanged  poems  and  wrote  letters, 
some  of  which  remain.  On  the  death  of  Vittoria,  in  1547,  the  light  of  life 
seemed  to  be  extinguished  for  our  sculptor.  It  is  said  that  he  waited  by  her 
bedside,  and  kissed  her  hand  when  she  was  dying.  The  sonnets  he  afterwards 
composed  show  that  his  soul  followed  her  to  heaven. 

At  last  the  moment  came  when  this  strong  solitary  spirit,  much  suffering 
and  much  loving,  had  to  render  its  account.  On  the  eighteenth  of  Febru- 
ary, 1564,  having  bequeathed  his  soul  to  God,  his  body  to  the  earth,  and  his 
worldly  goods  to  his  kinsfolk,  praying  them  on  his  death-bed  to  think  upon 
Christ's  passion,  he  breathed  his  last.  His  corpse  was  transported  to  Florence, 
and  buried  in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce  with  great  pomp  and  honor  by  the 
Duke,  the  city,  and  the  Florentine  Academy. 


C|)e  art  of  ;jEtcf)elanseio 

CHARLES     C.      PERKINS  'ITALIAN     SCULPTURE' 

IN  none  of  the  manifestations  of  Michelangelo's  genius  does  he  appear 
greater  than  in  sculpture.  For  sculpture  his  preference  was  so  marked  that 
he  always  turned  to  it  when  not  actually  forced  by  some  one  of  his  taskmasters 
to  build  or  to  paint.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  says,  "  It  is  only  well  with  me 
when  I  have  a  chisel  in  my  hand  ;  "  and  he  tells  us  in  one  of  his  most  beau- 
tiful sonnets, — 


jmicfjeiangelo  29 

"  The  best  of  artists  hath  no  thought  to  show 
"  What  the  rough  stone  in  its  superfluous  shell 
"  Doth  not  include." 

Teeming  with  possibilities,  the  virgin  block  seemed  to  his  mind  the  prison 
of  a  captive  idea  waiting  to  be  set  free  by  the  action  of  his  strong  hand,  with 
which  he  dealt  blow  after  blow,  until,  possessed  by  a  fresh  thought,  he  left 
the  half-revealed  image  in  a  state  vague  as  music,  and  as  suggestive  to  the 
imagination. 

An  enemy  to  tradition  in  art  as  well  as  to  a  positive  imitation  of  nature, 
following  neither  the  conventionalists,  the  realists,  nor  the  worshippers  of 
the  antique,  he  was  a  great  dreamer,  who  developed  man  into  something  more 
than  man,  and  by  the  novelty  and  strangeness  of  his  creations  placed  him- 
self out  of  the  pale  of  ordinary  criticism.  His  defects,  which  are  palpable  to 
all,  are  surrounded,  like  the  spots  in  the  sun,  by  a  dazzling  indistinctness 
which  renders  it  impossible  to  examine  them  closely.  Many  are  the  artists 
who  suit  our  taste  better,  move  our  feelings  more  deeply,  and  satisfy  us  a 
thousand  times  more  than  this  Titan  of  a  late  time  ;  but  we  know  of  none, 
ancient  or  modern,  who  leaves  a  stronger  impression  of  power  upon  the  mind, 
or  who  more  unmistakably  imprinted  the  stamp  of  genius  upon  all  that  he 
touched. 

EUGENE     GUILLAUME  GAZETTE     DES     BEAUX-ARTS:      1876 

SCULPTURE  is  Michelangelo's  domain.  Herein  he  has  no  rivals  among 
the  moderns.  That  art  was  his  predilection,  and  yet  it  was  in  that  art 
that  he  found  his  greatest  torments  ;  for  his  was  no  facile  genius,  and  to  such 
a  man  sculpture  could  be  no  mere  distraction.  The  all-embracing  thoughts 
which  stirred  within  him,  and  which  are  echoed  in  the  high  poetry  of  his 
sonnets,  could  not  be  bodied  forth  within  the  restricted  domain  of  material 
form,  and  his  lifelong  effort  to  broaden  that  domain  made  the  practice  of 
sculpture  a  continual  struggle  to  him. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  sublime  is  distinguished  from  the  beautiful  in  that, 
while  the  latter  expresses  the  idea  of  something  exalted  yet  serene,  like  the 
fair  azure  of  the  sky,  the  former  always  connotes  the  sense  of  struggle,  —  a 
struggle  against  superior  forces,  the  travail  of  sentiment  and  thought  in  the 
iron  bonds  of  art.  If  we  accept  these  definitions,  Michelangelo's  works  are 
sublime  rather  than  beautiful.  Traces  of  a  fierce  struggle  with  the  material 
is  evident  in  all  of  them.  Power  is  more  strongly  expressed  than  order,  and 
awe  is  commingled  with  our  admiration.  The  '  II  Pensieroso '  and  the  *  Moses  ' 
represent  the  art  of  sculpture  carried  to  its  highest  pitch  of  grandeur,  of 
energy,  and  of  passion. 

It  is  a  false  and  unjust  point  of  view,  however,  to  see  in  Michelangelo's  work 
only  what  his  critics  have  so  exclusively  considered,  —  the  force,  the  excess 
of  violence  which  surprises  the  mind,  the  torrent  which  carries  us  out  of  our 
accustomed  commonplaces  of  thought.  There  is  also  a  science  in  them 
which  we  must  recognize,  and  admire  without  reserve.  In  all  his  works  he 
exhibits  a  mastery  of  the  science  of  movement,  the  science  of  anatomy,  the 


30  ;Jtta£tergin&rt 

science  of  execution,  which  humiliates  us.  The  grandeur  of  his  figures,  the 
dignity  of  their  outlines,  the  monumental  character  of  one  and  all,  is  un- 
matched ;  and  in  the  art  of  posing,  constructing,  and  basing  a  figure,  what- 
ever may  be  the  subject  or  the  action,  the  student  must  always  bow  before 
Michelangelo  as  incomparable.  His  supremacy  in  the  essential  and  distinct- 
ive qualities  of  sculpture  (qualities  of  which  sculptors  are  so  justly  jealous), 
equilibrium,  justness  of  movement,  the  exact  balance  of  masses,  order,  —  in 
a  word,  those  which  give  to  Michelangelo's  figures,  even  the  most  tormented,, 
an  imposing  stability  which  gives  them  the  aspect  of  something  eternal, — 
these  architectonic  qualities  have  not  been  sufficiently  remarked  or  brought 
to  the  attention  of  students  of  his  work.  Because  of  them,  and  through  them, 
however,  Michelangelo  is  absolutely  classic,  the  most  classic  of  all  modern 
artists. 

And  yet,  all  this  said  and  granted,  we  must  always  come  back  finally  to 
the  supreme  and  distinctive  and  dominant  quality  of  all  —  power.  Through 
every  one  of  his  works,  howsoever  incomplete,  shines  the  underlying  inspira- 
tion, and  the  spectator  may  follow  the  master's  thought  through  all  the  baffling 
obstacles  and  stormy  crises.  Through  the  material  veil  the  idea  is  always  splen- 
didly apparent.  The  genius  of  the  artist  is  ever  superior  to  his  handiwork. 

Such  works  of  art  as  these  are  not  made  only  to  be  looked  at,  or  to  pro- 
duce mere  sensual  delight.  Michelangelo's  sculptures  are  to  be  thought  over 
and  brooded  upon.  They  propound  new  questionings  to  us  endlessly  ;  they 
torment  our  spirits ;  they  evoke  and  germinate  new  thoughts.  —  FROM  THE 
FRENCH. 

MARCEL    REYMOND  'LA    SCULPTURE    FLORENTINE* 

IT  is  most  difficult  to  speak  of  Michelangelo.  How  is  it  possible  to  find 
just  words  to  tell  of  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  his  art  and  yet  to  tell 
also  of  that  excess  which  mars  even  the  most  beautiful  of  them;  to  show 
how  the  excellent  and  the  detestable  elbow  one  another  ? 

His  type  is  not  altogether  unique  in  art.  To  unite  bad  taste  and  the  most 
sublime  beauties  is  the  lot  of  such  ardent  souls  as  his,  such  violent  tempera- 
ments, overflowing  with  activity,  and  it  is  also  a  trait  proper  to  precocious 
epochs  in  which  too  much  science  leads  to  exaggeration  and  forgetfulness  of 
nature.  In  Michelangelo's  case,  both  the  time  in  which  he  lived  and  the 
character  of  his  genius  jointly  conspired  to  lead  him  from  beauty  of  style,  and 
to  lure  him  into  excesses.  There  is  nothing  in  his  work  which  can  justify 
the  comparison  of  him  to  Phidias.  If  he  is  to  be  compared  to  any  Greek 
artists,  it  is  to  those  sculptors  of  the  decadence,  the  masters  of  the  school 
of  Pergamos  and  Rhodes,  who  carved  the  *  Torso  '  and  the  '  Laocoon.' 

It  is  a  mistake  through  admiration  for  great  geniuses  to  blink  their  faults 
and  to  speak  only  of  their  glories.  The  greater  a  man  and  the  more  he  im- 
poses upon  our  imaginations,  the  more  important  it  is  to  discern  and  to  dis- 
criminate clearly  the  qualities  in  which  his  genius  is  most  manifest,  and  in 
Michelangelo's  case  such  discrimination  is  the  more  necessary  because  his 
very  defects  were  for  long  taken  for  his  merits  and  therefore  imitated. 


Micheangeo  31 

In  an  essay  upon  the  architectural  works  of  Michelangelo,  Charles  Gamier 
has  clearly  touched  the  nature  of  his  genius.  "  Michelangelo,"  he  says, 
"  even  Michelangelo  has  failed.  Too  often  in  seeking  for  the  grand  he  has 
found  only  the  tormented,  in  seeking  the  original  he  has  found  only  the  strange 
and  even  the  ignoble."  As  if  frightened  by  this  dictum,  Gamier  hastens  to 
add  that  he  judges  Michelangelo  thus  only  in  his  architectural  works,  and 
attempts  to  point  out  why  such  reproaches  are  not  just  when  applied  to  his 
painting  and  his  sculpture.  The  truth  is,  however,  that  what  Michelangelo 
was  as  an  architect  he  was  as  a  painter  and  sculptor.  "Tormented," 
"  strange,"  were  the  words  written  by  an  architect  studying  Michelangelo 
as  an  architect  —  do  they  not  seem  at  least  as  just  when  we  study  the  Med- 
ici tombs,  or,  above  all,  the  '  Last  Judgment,'  which  is  truly  the  strangest 
and  most  tormented  work  that  has  ever  been  created  ?  Yet,  and  in  spite  of  all 
his  defects,  Michelangelo  remains  one  of  the  greatest,  if  not  the  very  greatest, 
of  all  modern  artists.  Let  us  see  why. 

In  the  first  place,  from  the  point  of  view  of  technical  knowledge  of  his 
art  he  is  unrivalled.  Nobody  has  ever  drawn  better  than  he  drew  ;  nobody 
has  ever  known  the  human  body  better.  He  abused  his  knowledge  without 
doubt,  for  in  his  Medici  tombs,  and  above  all  in  his  '  Last  Judgment,'  he  has 
represented  attitudes  contrary  to  nature  ;  but  he  has  represented  them  always 
with  such  impeccable  science  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  even  his 
most  violent  aberrations.  He  was,  moreover,  a  marvellous  workman.  None 
ever  carved  stone  with  more  brio,  none  ever  had  such  a  passion  for  the  ma- 
terial side  of  his  art ;  and  for  this  reason  he  will  always  be  the  ideal  of  those 
of  his  own  calling. 

These  abilities,  however,  make  up  but  a  small  part  of  his  genius.  Michel- 
angelo's true  title  to  glory  lies  in  his  thought  rather  than  in  the  means  of  its 
expression.  He  divorced  himself  from  the  Renaissance  to  join  with  the  great 
Christian  school  of  a  preceding  time.  He  is  great  because  in  the  vaulting  of 
the  Sistine  Chapel  he  recreated  the  prophets  and  the  sibyls,  and  impressed 
them  with  all  the  nobility  of  his  own  soul.  He  is  great,  above  all,  through  his 
suffering.  In  the  presence  of  those  strange  figures  of  the  Medici  tombs  we 
hear  that  cry  which  man  would  ever  fain  stop  his  ears  against,  and  yet  perforce 
must  always  listen  to  hear, —  the  cry  of  suffering  of  the  human  soul.  .  .  . 

If  through  Michelangelo's  varied  work  we  seek  to  spell  out  the  mind  which 
conceived  it,  and  seek  therein  the  dominant  note,  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
shall  find  it  to  be  an  immense  pride.  From  such  a  pride  would  flow  the  ex- 
pression of  power,  the  moral  and  physical  sovereignty  of  his  Virgins,  his 
'  David,'  his  '  Victory,'  and  all  the  figures  of  the  Sistine  ;  and  as  a  correla- 
tive quality,  the  rebellion,  the  revolt,  the  mighty  resistance,  which  we  find 
in  the  '  Bound  Captive,'  the  '  Day,'  and  the  '  Moses.'  To  such  a  pride,  also, 
we  may  trace  the  sources  of  that  great  suffering  (so  deeply  are  the  souls  of 
men  of  genius  susceptible  to  wounds)  which  cries  out  of  the  'Dawn,'  the 
'Twilight,'  the  'Descent  from  the  Cross,'  and  the  'Last  Judgment' — suf- 
ferings of  which  the  ultimate  result  is  profound  misanthropy,  disgust  with 
life,  and  the  imperious  desire  "  to  see  no  more,  to  feel  no  more."  .  .  . 


Jtta^terg    in    &rt 

Michelangelo  has  played  too  important  a  part  in  the  history  of  art  for  even 
the  least  details  of  his  work  to  lack  interest.  It  would  be  unjust,  truly,  to  say 
that  he  lacks  invention, —  he  who  created  so  new  a  style  and  endowed  with 
life  so  many  figures, —  but  nevertheless  he  repeated  himself  often.  Certain 
formulas  seemed  to  impose  on  his  thought.  Having  an  idea  to  express,  he 
demanded  nothing  from  a  model,  but  sought  in  his  own  mind  for  the  form 
which  he  was  to  create,  and  the  mirror  of  his  mind  seems  always  to  have 
reflected  that  form  with  something  of  its  own  idiosyncrasy.  Let  me  subjoin 
a  list  of  what  I  may  call  the  "  habits  "  of  Michelangelo  :  — 

w  D 

For  the  general  outline  of  a  statue  he  was  accustomed  to  adopt  on  one 
side  a  long  straight  line,  and  on  the  other  a  curved  and  broken  one.  He  liked 
to  hug  one  arm  close  to  the  body,  or  to  throw  it  behind  in  such  a  fashion  as 
to  make  it  practically  disappear,  and  in  opposition,  to  raise  the  other,  and  so 
place  it  as  to  form  a  sharp  angle  with  the  body.  The  arm  which  is  advanced 
is  always  of  the  greatest  beauty,  but  the  gesture,  too  often  violent,  is  not  al- 
ways rational.  Of  the  two  legs,  he  makes  one  support  all  the  weight  of  the 
body,  and  raises  the  other ;  and  to  augment  this  difference,  which  seemed  to 
please  him,  he  often,  and  for  no  logical  reason,  placed  the  foot  of  the  raised 
leg  on  a  pedestal.  In  his  seated  figures  one  leg  is  advanced  and  the  other 
usually  sharply  bent  beneath  the  body.  One  shoulder  is  always  higher  than  the 
other,  a  characteristic  which  became  more  striking  in  each  successive  work. 
If  the  body  is  seen  three-quarters  front,  the  head  is  full  front.  The  head  is 
almost  always  bent  forward,  and  over  the  hair  of  his  women  he  throws  heavy 
veils  which  have  something  the  aspect  of  helmets. 

Too  often  Michelangelo  did  not  seek  to  evolve  from  his  subject  the  ideas 
which  should  have  led  him  to  a  choice  of  forms.  He  rather  employed  the 
forms  which  he  deemed  beautiful  in  themselves  ;  and  these  forms  have  some- 
times no  link  with  the  idea  which  he  wished  to  express. —  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

WILHELM   LUBKE  <GESCHICHTE  DER  PLASTIK' 

SINCE  the  period  of  classic  antiquity,  no  master  has  been  endowed  with 
such  eminent  plastic  talent  as  Michelangelo.  However  important  his  works 
in  architecture  and  sculpture  may  be,  sculpture  was,  and  remained,  his  favorite 
art.  Even  the  purest  and  greatest  of  his  painted  figures,  such  as  the  sibyls 
and  prophets  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  are  plastic  in  conception. 

In  order  to  completely  master  the  human  figure,  Michelangelo  gave  up 
many  years  of  his  youth  to  a  more  thorough  study  of  anatomy  than  ever  has 
been  undertaken  by  any  other  modern  master.  He,  first  since  the  ancients, 
valued  the  human  form  in  all  its  majesty  and  for  its  own  sake  ;  and  the  aim 
of  his  endeavor  became  to  exhibit  it  in  all  conceivable  attitudes  and  fore- 
shortenings,  to  delineate  it  grandly,  freely,  and  broadly,  after  the  manner  of 
the  antique. 

But  Michelangelo  was  more  —  he  was  an  idealist  in  the  strictest  sense  of 
the  word.  In  his  earliest  works  he  strove  after  a  perfect  beauty,  such  as  is 
expressed  in  the  creations  of  antique  sculpture.  Seeking  thus  for  a  universal 
mode  of  expression,  he  was  forced  to  wholly  abandon  the  individual  concep- 


jtticfjelangelo  33 

tion  which  had  occupied  so  prominent  a  place  throughout  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. What  could  his  age  afford  to  such  a  Titan  ?  Christian  personages  and 
the  spiritual  idea  which  animated  them  were  ill-adapted  to  an  art  of  which 
the  aim  was  to  glorify  the  human  figure  in  its  pure  beauty  ;  yet  antique 
mythology  had  died  out ;  and  if,  at  times,  a  mythological  subject  presented 
itself,  the  occasions  were  too  rare,  and  the  subject,  in  spite  of  all  the  prevalent 
enthusiasm  for  antiquity,  too  far  removed  from  modern  subjective  feeling. 
Still  more  alien  to  Michelangelo's  genius  was  the  historical  subject,  with  its 
exact  and  individual  features.  Nothing,  therefore,  remained  to  him  but  the 
realm  of  allegory,  the  vague  forms  of  which  offered  themselves  as  ready  vehicles 
for  the  presentation  of  his  subjective  ideas.  Allegory,  then,  presented  the  only 
means  of  outlet,  and  a  dangerous  one,  to  the  capricious  fancy  of  the  artist. 
Unfettered  subjectivity  prevailed  in  the  world  of  art  for  the  first  time.  It 
recognized  no  subjective  bonds  in  its  absolute  sway  ;  it  had  cast  off  the  leading- 
strings  of  tradition  and,  absorbed  in  its  own  profound  inspirations,  wrestled 
mightily  to  produce  from  them  the  grandest  effect.  All  Michelangelo's  works 
betray  such  a  struggle  —  the  struggle  of  sublime  ideas  striving  to  surge  up  into 
being  from  the  wonderful  depths  of  his  mind,  and  bearing  upon  them  every 
mark  of  the  mighty  throes  which  gave  them  birth. 

There  can  be  no  calm  enjoyment  of  such  works.  They  irresistibly  involve 
us  in  their  passion,  and,  whether  we  will  or  no,  make  us  sharers  of  their  tragedy. 
This  is  the  impression  which  even  his  contemporaries  felt  when  they  spoke 
of  the  "  terrible  "  in  Michelangelo's  works. 

In  order  to  procure  an  adequate  expression  for  these  mighty,  profound,  and 
yet  scarcely  definable  ideas,  Michelangelo  soon  began  to  make  the  human 
form  the  manikin  of  his  sovereign  will.  The  fundamental  ideal,  laboriously 
produced  through  an  internal  conflict,  could  only  become  externally  available 
by  making  the  laws  of  physical  organization  yield  to  it.  Thus,  then,  began 
his  sway  of  idea  over  form.  It  became  a  matter  of  little  importance  to  the 
master  whether  an  attitude  was  natural  or  unconstrained  if  only  it  thrillingly 
expressed  what  was  surging  within  his  mind  ;  and  so  he  moulded  the  human 
form  at  will,  gave  to  certain  parts  exaggerated  colossal  might,  increased  the 
power  of  the  muscles,  and  neglected  other  parts  (as,  for  example,  almost  al- 
ways the  back  of  the  head  in  his  statues),  and  thus  prescribed  new  laws  to 
the  human  frame. 

In  the  greatest  masterpieces,  even  among  the  ancients,  small  intentional 
departures  from  truth  are  often  just  the  points  on  which  the  spiritual  effect 
of  the  whole  depends  ;  but  Michelangelo  frequently  indulges  too  far  in  this 
poetic  license,  and  falls  into  exaggeration,  and  therefore  into  ugliness.  Thus 
the  same  Michelangelo  who  possessed  the  highest  idea  of  the  beauty  of  the 
human  body  at  last  arrived  at  a  conception  of  form  which,  as  it  were,  wil- 
fully avoided  the  beautiful. 

Bufrrude  and  unpleasing  as  they  sometimes  may  be,  his  figures  are  never 
petty  or  ordinary.  In  these  bold  forms,  grandly  outlined  and  executed  with 
unsurpassable  breadth  and  freedom,  he  sets  before  us  a  higher  type  of  being, 
in  whose  presence  everything  low  falls  from  us,  and  our  feelings  experience 


34  Jfta£t er£   itt   %rt 

the  same  elevation  that  they  do  before  true  tragedy.  Lastly,  that  which  ever 
and  ever  anew  sympathetically  attracts  us,  even  to  those  of  his  figures  which 
we  at  first  found  repellent,  is  the  fact  that  they  are  inwardly  allied  to  the  best 
within  us,  to  our  own  striving  after  all  that  is  high  and  ideal.  Elevated  though 
they  may  be  above  all  human  measure,  they  are  still  flesh  of  our  flesh,  spirit 
of  our  spirit.  Because  of  this  kinship  we  read  into  them  more  than  we  actually 
see — and  herein  lies  the  mysterious  power  of  modern  subjectivity.  .  .  . 

Supremely  powerful  and  supremely  individual,  Michelangelo  completely 
transformed  the  sphere  of  plastic  art,  and  assigned  new  limits  to  it.  During 
his  long  life  he  had  comprised  all  its  phases,  from  the  naturalistic  beginnings 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  through  the  gradual  stages  of  its  development,  up  to 
the  first  symptoms  of  decline  and  mannerism.  He  has  been  called,  and  not 
untruly,  the  "  P'ate  "  of  modern  art ;  but  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  he 
was  after  all  but  the  agent  of  an  impelling  historical  movement,  and  that  so 
much  of  this  movement  seems  to  have  been  accomplished  through  him  only 
because  he  was  so  supremely  great. —  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


Ci)t  ^orfcs  of  jHtcijelangelo 


DESCRIPTIONS      OF      THE      PLATES 


ACADEMY:    FLORENCE 


IN  the  year  1501  Michelangelo  was  commissioned  by  Soderini,  then  gon- 
faloniere  of  Florence,  to  carve  a  statue  from  a  huge  block  of  marble  which 
the  sculptor  Bartolommeo  di  Pietro,  called  Baccellino,  had  unsuccessfully 
begun  to  work  on  forty  years  before,  and  which  had  been  lying  thus  damaged 
and  idle  ever  since.  The  ambitious  task  was  undertaken  by  the  master,  and 
his  colossal  figure  of  David  —  popularly  called  '  The  Giant ' —  was  the  result. 
When  it  was  completed,  a  meeting  of  all  the  principal  artists  in  Florence 
was  called  to  decide  upon  the  best  site  for  it.  Various  positions  were 
suggested,  but  the  final  decision  was  left  to  Michelangelo  himself,  who  chose 
a  spot  in  front  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  where  the  statue  remained  until 
1873,  when  it  was  removed,  for  protection,  to  a  hall  in  the  Florentine 
Academy.  "  In  the  '  David,'  "  writes  Symonds,  "  Michelangelo  first  dis- 
played that  quality  of  terribilita,  of  spirit-quailing,  awe-inspiring  force,  for 
which  he  afterwards  became  so  famous.  The  statue  imposes,  not  merely  by 
its  size  and  majesty  and  might,  but  by  something  vehement  in  the  concep- 
tion. Wishing  perhaps  to  adhere  strictly  to  the  Biblical  story,  Michelangelo 
studied  a  lad  whose  frame  was  not  developed.  The  '  David,'  to  state  the 
matter  frankly,  is  a  colossal  hobbledehoy.  His  body,  in  breadth  of  the  thorax, 
depth  of  the  abdomen,  and  general  stoutness,  has  not  grown  up  to  the  scale 
of  the  enormous  hands  and  feet  and  heavy  head.  We  feel  that  he  wants  at 
least  two  years  to  become  a  fully  developed  man,  passing  from  adolescence 
to  the  maturity  of  strength  and  beauty.  The  attitude  selected  is  one  of  great 


jHicfjelangelo  35 

dignity  and  vigor.  The  heroic  boy,  quite  certain  of  victory,  is  excited  by  the 
coming  contest.  His  brows  are  violently  contracted,  the  nostrils  tense  and 
quivering,  the  eyes  fixed  keenly  on  the  distant  Philistine.  In  his  right  hand, 
kept  at  a  just  middle  point  between  the  hip  and  knee,  he  holds  the  piece  of 
wood  on  which  his  sling  is  hung.  The  sling  runs  round  his  back,  and  the 
centre  of  it,  where  the  stone  bulges,  is  held  with  the  left  hand,  poised  upon 
the  left  shoulder,  ready  to  be  loosed.  Michelangelo  invariably  chose  some 
decisive  moment  in  the  action  he  had  to  represent,  and  though  he  was  work- 
ing here  under  difficulties,  owing  to  the  limitations  of  the  damaged  block,  he 
contrived  to  suggest  the  imminence  of  swift  and  sudden  energy  which  shall 
disturb  the  equilibrium  of  his  young  giant's  pose." 


ST.      PETER     SI      ROME 


THE  *  Pieta  was  executed  in  Rome  in  1499,  by  order  of  the  Abbot  of 
St.  Denis,  when  Michelangelo  was  twenty-four  years  old.  Vasari  tells 
us  that  such  was  the  love  and  care  which  the  master  had  given  to  this  group, 
that  hearing  the  work  one  day  ascribed  to  Christoforo  Solari,  a  Lombard 
sculptor,  he  shut  himself  by  night  into  the  chapel  where  it  then  stood,  in 
the  old  basilica  of  St.  Peter's,  and  engraved  his  name  upon  the  cincture  of  the 
Madonna's  robe,  "  a  thing  he  never  did  again  for  any  work." 

'  The  composition  of  the  group  is  pathetic,"  writes  the  sculptor  M.  Guil- 
laume.  "Although  the  figures  are  not  quite  life  size,  the  ensemble  is  impos- 
ing, and  from  every  point  of  view  the  mass  is  excellent.  The  Virgin  holds 
the  body  of  her  son  supine  on  her  knees.  Grief  breathes  from  her  whole 
attitude  and  person.  She  is  the  Virgin,  she  is  the  mother,  and  the  dead  Christ 
lies  in  the  lap  where  she  has  so  often  borne  Him  as  a  little  child.  In  her 
face  all  is  purity,  forgetfulness  of  self,  and  sanctity  ;  but  a  sanctity  so  pro- 
found, so  wide  and  universal,  that  we  may  find  its  equivalent  even  upon  the 
Buddhist  images.  The  figure  of  Christ  is  marvellous  in  its  suppleness.  The 
lithe  harmony  of  the  form  is  perfect.  The  two  figures  are  not  only  juxtaposed, 
but  they  are  identified.  The  body  of  Christ,  dragging  down  the  drapery  be- 
hind it  by  its  weight,  thus,  with  most  exquisite  art,  takes  on  something  of  the 
character  of  a  bas-relief." 

"  Here,  more  completely  than  in  any  other  work  of  modern  sculpture," 
writes  Perkins,  "  art  and  Christianity  are  allied  ;  and  here  alone,  among  the 
plastic  works  of  Michelangelo,  do  we  find  evidence  of  that  religious  spirit 
which  he  embodied  in  his  sonnets.  In  his  sublime  frescos  at  the  Sistine  Chapel 
he  is  a  historian  of  sacred  things,  who,  in  his  own  peculiar  language,  rises  to 
the  lofty  height  of  the  inspired  Hebrew  writers ;  but  he  is  not,  from  the 
nature  of  the  subjects  with  which  he  there  dealt,  what  he  is  in  his  *  Pieta,' 
—  an  exponent,  through  form,  of  the  gospel  spirit  of  absolute  submission  to 
the  will  of  God,  whose  type  is  the  prostrate  figure  of  the  dead  Christ.  .  .  . 

"  Sculptured  in  the  very  last  years  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the  '  Pieta ' 
stands  like  a  boundary-stone  on  the  extreme  limits  of  the  Quattrocento.  Its 
devotional  spirit  marks  its  connection  with  the  art  of  the  past,  while  its  an- 
atomical precision  and  masterly  treatment  connect  it  with  that  of  the  future. 
With  it  the  first  period  of  Michelangelo's  development  ends." 


36  ;0ta£ter0    tit    ftrt 

MADONNA     AND      CHILD      (BAS-RELIEp)  NATIONAL      MUSEUM:      FLORENCE 

"  TF  Vasari  can  be  trusted,"  writes  Symonds,  "it  was  during  his  residence 
A  at  Florence,  when  his  hands  were  fully  occupied,  that  Michelangelo  found 
time  to  carve  the  two  unfinished  Madonnas  in  relief,  enclosed  in  circular  spaces, 
one  of  which  is  now  in  the  Royal  Academy,  London,  and  the  other,  made  for 
Bartolommeo  Pitti,  in  the  National  Museum  at  Florence.  We  might  fancifully 
call  them  a  pair  of  native  pearls  or  uncut  gems,  lovely  by  reason  even  of 
their  sketchiness.  They  illustrate  what  Cellini  and  Vasari  have  already  taught 
us  about  his  method  :  that  he  refused  to  work  by  piecemeal,  but  began  by 
disengaging  the  first,  the  second,  then  the  third  surfaces,  following  a  model 
and  a  drawing." 

Of  the  two  reliefs,  that  of  the  National  Museum  is  the  simpler,  more  tran- 
quil, and  more  stately.  Eugene  Miintz  writes  of  it,  "  Seated  upon  a  block  of 
stone  (remark  the  distaste  of  Michelangelo  for  all  such  inventions  of  the  deco- 
rative arts  as  thrones,  canopies,  and  the  like),  the  Virgin  holds  the  infant 
Jesus,  who,  half  asleep,  as  it  were,  leans  upon  the  open  book  which  lies  upon 
his  mother's  lap.  Behind  appears  the  head  of  the  little  St.  John  Baptist.  The 
Virgin  is  posed  with  perfect  freedom  and  grace,  and  the  whole  motive,  though 
one  of  the  simplest  that  Michelangelo  ever  employed,  is  full  both  of  charm 
and  power.  It  shows  us  the  sculptor  as  still  young  in  heart,  still  susceptible 
to  fresh,  smiling,  and  amiable  impressions." 

BOUND      CAPTIVE  LOUVRE:      PARIS 

THIS  statue  was  one  of  the  two  so-called  '  Captives,'  or  *  Slaves,'  origi- 
nally intended  for  the  tomb  of  Pope  Julius  II. ;  but  when  the  mausoleum 
was  planned  on  a  reduced  scale  Michelangelo  gave  both  figures  to  his  friend 
Roberto  Strozzi,  by  whom  they  were  taken  to  France,  where  they  became 
the  property  of  the  Constable  de  Montmorency,  remaining  in  his  chateau  at 
Ecouen  until  1632,  when  they  were  given  to  Cardinal  Richelieu,  who  re- 
moved them  to  Poitou.  In  1749  they  were  in  the  possession  of  the  cardinal's 
nephew,  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu,  whose  wife  somewhat  later  put  them  in 
the  stable  of  her  house  in  Paris,  where  M.  Alexandre  Lenoir  found  them  in 
1793,  and  purchased  them  for  the  French  nation. 

"Among  all  Michelangelo's  works,"  writes  Perkins,  "  there  is  perhaps  none 
more  beautiful  than  this  sleeping  prisoner,  who,  worn  out  with  futile  efforts 
to  escape,  rests  with  his  noble  head  thrown  back  so  as  to  expose  his  throat, 
his  left  arm  raised  and  bent  above  his  head;  and  his  right  reposing  upon  his 
breast."  "  It  deserves,"  writes  Symonds,  "  to  be  called  the  most  fascinating 
creation  of  the  master's  genius,  and  together  with  the  'Adam,'  may  be  taken 
as  fixing  his  standard  of  masculine  beauty.  Praxiteles  might  have  so  expressed 
the  Genius  of  Eternal  Repose  ;  but  no  Greek  sculptor  would  have  given  that 
huge  girth  to  the  thorax,  or  have  exaggerated  the  mighty  hand  with  such  delight 
in  sinewy  force.  These  qualities,  peculiar  to  Buonarroti's  sense  of  form,  do 
not  detract  from  the  languid  pose  and  supple  rhythm  of  the  figure,  which  flows 
down,  a  sinuous  line  of  beauty,  through  the  slightly  swelling  flanks,  along  the 
finely  moulded  thighs,  to  the  loveliest  feet  emerging  from  the  marble.  Like 


^ic&eiangelo  37 

melody,  this  figure  tells  no  story,  awakes  no  desire,  but  fills  the  soul  with 
something  beyond  thought  or  passion,  subtler  and  more  penetrating  than 
words." 

MADONNA     AND     CHILD  CHURCH     OF     NOTRE     DAME:     BRUGES 

\ LTHOUGH  both  Condivi  and  Vasari  speak  of  a  work  sculptured  by 
-/V  Michelangelo  for  certain  Flemish  merchants  as  a  relief  in  bronze,  it  is 
now  believed  that  these  early  biographers  were  mistaken  in  so  describing  it, 
and  that  the  beautiful  marble  group  of  the  '  Madonna  and  Child  '  in  Bruges, 
perhaps  the  most  charming  of  the  master's  works,  is  the  one  sent  by 
Michelangelo  to  Flanders.  Albrecht  Diirer  saw  it  when  he  was  in  Bruges  in 
1521,  and  wrote  in  his  journal,  "Then  I  saw  in  Our  Lady's  Church  the 
alabaster  Madonna  sculptured  by  Michelangelo  of  Rome."  The  date  of  its 
execution  is  uncertain,  but  it  is  generally  supposed  to  be  later  than  that  of 
the  '  Pieta  '  in  St.  Peter's. 

MEDICI    TOMBS  SACRISTY    OF    SAN    LORENZO:    FLORENCE 

"T^ITLY  to  estimate  the  power  of  Michelangelo  as  a  sculptor,"  writes  the 
JP  sculptor  William  Wetmore  Story,  "  we  must  study  the  great  works  in 
the  Medici  Chapel  in  the  Church  of  San  Lorenzo,  which  show  the  culmina- 
tion of  his  genius  in  this  branch  of  art. 

"The  original  Church  of  San  Lorenzo  was  founded  in  930,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  ancient  in  Italy.  It  was  burned  in  1423  ,  but  one  hundred  years 
later,  by  the  order  of  Leo  X.,  Michelangelo  designed  and  began  to  execute 
the  new  sacristy,  which  was  intended  to  serve  as  a  mausoleum  to  Giuliano 
de'  Medici,  Duke  of  Nemours,  brother  of  Leo  X.,  and  younger  son  of  Lo- 
renzo the  Magnificent ;  and  to  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino,  and  grandson  of 
the  great  Lorenzo.  Within  this  mausoleum  were  placed  the  statues  of  Giu- 
liano and  Lorenzo.  They  are  both  seated  on  lofty  pedestals,  and  face  each 
other  on  opposite  sides  of  the  chapel.  At  the  base  of  Giuliano's  tomb,  re- 
clining on  a  huge  sarcophagus,  are  the  colossal  figures  of '  Day  '  and  '  Night,' 
and  at  the  base  of  Lorenzo's  the  figures  of '  Dawn  '  and  '  Twilight.' 

"  The  chapel  is  quite  separated  from  the  church  itself.  It  is  solemn,  cold, 
bare,  white,  and  lighted  from  above  by  a  lantern  open  to  the  sky.  A  chill 
comes  over  you  as  you  enter  it ;  and  the  whole  place  is  awed  into  silence  by 
these  majestic  and  solemn  figures.  You  at  once  feel  yourself  to  be  in  the 
presence  of  an  influence  serious,  grand,  impressive,  and  powerful,  and  of  a 
character  totally  different  from  anything  that  sculpture  has  hitherto  produced, 
either  in  the  ancient  or  modern  world.  Whatever  may  be  the  defects  of 
these  great  works,  and  they  are  many  and  evident,  one  feels  that  here  a  lofty 
intellect  and  power  has  struggled,  and  fought  its  way,  so  to  speak,  into  the 
marble,  and  brought  forth  from  the  insensate  stone  a  giant  brood  of  almost 
supernatural  shapes.  It  is  not  nature  that  he  has  striven  to  render,  but  rather 
to  embody  thoughts,  and  to  clothe  in  form  conceptions  which  surpass  the 
limits  of  ordinary  nature.  It  is  idle  to  apply  here  the  rigid  rules  of  realism. 
The  attitudes  are  distorted  and  almost  impossible.  No  figure  could  ever  re- 
tain the  position  of  the  '  Night '  at  best  for  more  than  a  moment,  and  to  sleep 


38  ;|fta£ter£inart 

in  such  an  attitude  would  be  scarcely  possible.  And  yet  a  mighty  burden  of 
sleep  weighs  down  this  figure,  and  the  solemnity  of  night  itself  broods  over 
it.  So  also  the  '  Day  '  is  more  like  a  primeval  Titanic  form  than  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  human  being.  The  head  itself  is  merely  blocked  out,  and 
scarcely  indicated  in  its  features.  But  this  very  fact  is  in  itself  a  stroke  of 
genius ;  for  the  suggestion  of  mystery  in  this  vague  and  unfinished  face  is 
far  more  impressive  than  any  elaborated  head  could  have  been.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  he  left  it  thus  because  he  found  the  action  too  strained.  So  be  it ; 
but  here  is  '  Day  '  stiH  involved  in  clouds,  but  now  arousing  from  its  slum- 
bers, throwing  off  the  mists  of  darkness,  and  rising  with  a  tremendous  energy 
of  awakening  life.  The  same  character  also  pervades  the  *  Dawn  '  and  *  Twi- 
light.' They  are  not  man  and  woman  ;  they  are  types  of  ideas.  One  lifts 
its  head,  for  the  morning  is  coming  ;  one  holds  its  head  abased,  for  the  gloom 
of  evening  is  drawing  on.  A  terrible  sadness  and  seriousness  oppresses  them. 
'  Dawn  '  does  not  smile  at  the  coming  of  the  light,  is  not  glad,  has  little 
hope,  but  looks  upon  it  with  a  terrible  weariness,  almost  with  despair — for 
it  sees  little  promise,  and  doubts  far  more  than  it  hopes.  '  Twilight,'  again, 
almost  disdainfully  sinks  to  repose.  The  day  has  accomplished  nothing  ;  op- 
pressed and  hopeless,  it  sees  the  darkness  close  about  it. 

"  What  Michelangelo  meant  to  embody  in  these  statues  can  only  be  guessed 
—  but' certainly  it  was  no  trivial  thought.  It  was  not  beauty,  or  grace,  or 
simple  truth  to  nature,  that  he  sought  to  express.  In  making  them,  the  weight 
of  the  unexplained  mystery  of  life  hung  over  him  ;  the  struggle  of  humanity 
against  superior  forces  oppressed  him.  The  doubts,  the  despair,  the  power, 
the  indomitable  will  of  his  own  nature,  are  in  them.  They  are  not  the  ex- 
pressions of  the  natural  day  of  the  world,  of  the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  the  ten- 
derness of  the  twilight,  the  broad  gladness  of  day,  or  the  calm  repose  of  night ; 
but  they  are  seasons  and  epochs  of  the  spirit  of  man  —  its  doubts  and  fears, 
its  sorrows  and  longings  and  unrealized  hopes.  The  sad  condition  of  his 
country  oppressed  him.  Its  shame  overwhelmed  him.  His  heart  was  with 
Savonarola,  to  whose  excited  preaching  he  had  listened,  and  his  mind  was 
inflamed  by  the  hope  of  a  spiritual  regeneration  of  Italy  and  the  world.  The 
gloom  of  Dante  enshrouded  him,  and  terrible  shapes  of  the  '  Inferno  '  had 
made  deeper  impression  on  his  nature  than  all  the  sublime  glories  of  the  '  Par- 
adiso.'  His  colossal  spirit  stood  fronting  the  agitated  storms  of  passions 
which  then  shook  his  country,  like  a  rugged  cliff  that  braves  the  tempest- 
whipped  sea  —  disdainfully  casting  from  it  violent  and  raging  waves,  and 
longing  almost  with  a  vain  hope  for  the  time  when  peace,  honor,  liberty,  and 
religion  should  rule  the  world. 

"  This  at  least  would  seem  to  be  implied  in  the  lines  he  wrote  under  his 
statue  of '  Night,'  in  response  to  the  quatrain  written  there  by  Giovan'  Bat- 
tista  Strozzi.  These  are  the  lines  of  Strozzi :  — 

'  Night,  which  in  peaceful  attitude  you  see 

'  Here  sleeping,  from  this  stone  an  Angel  wrought. 

'  Sleeping,  it  lives.    If  you  believe  it  not, 

'  Awaken  it,  and  it  will  speak  to  thee. ' 

"  And  this  was  Michelangelo's  response  :  — 


jmicfjelangelo  39 

'  Grateful  is  sleep  —  and  more,  of  stone  to  be  ; 
'  So  long  as  crime  and  shame  here  hold  their  state, 
'  Who  cannot  see  or  feel  is  fortunate  — 
'  Therefore  speak  low,  and  do  not  waken  me. ' 

"  This  would  clearly  seem  to  show  that  under  these  giant  shapes  he  meant 
to  embody  allegorically  at  once  the  sad  condition  of  humanity  and  the  op- 
pressed condition  of  his  country.  What  lends  itself  still  more  to  this  inter- 
pretation is  the  character  and  expression  of  both  the  statues  of  Lorenzo  and 
Giuliano,  and  particularly  that  of  Lorenzo,  who  leans  forward  with  his  hand 
raised  to  his  chin  in  so  profound  and  sad  a  meditation  that  the  world  has 
sometimes  given  it  the  name  of '  II  Pensiero  '  —  not  even  calling  it  *  II  Pen- 
sieroso,'  the  thinker,  but  '  II  Pensiero,'  thought  itself;  while  the  attitude  and 
expression  of  Giuliano  is  of  one  who  helplessly  holds  the  sceptre  and  lets  the 
world  go,  heedless  of  all  its  crime  and  folly,  and  too  weak  to  lend  his  hand 
to  set  it  right. 

"  But  whatever  the  interpretation  to  be  given  these  statues,  in  power, 
originality,  and  grandeur  of  character  they  have  never  been  surpassed.  There 
is  a  lift  of  power,  an  energy  of  conception,  a  grandeur  and  boldness  of  treat- 
ment, which  redeems  all  defects.  They  are  the  work  of  a  great  mind,  spurn- 
ing the  literal,  daring  almost  the  impossible,  and  using  human  form  as  a 
means  of  thought  and  expression.  In  them  is  a  spirit  which  was  unknown 
to  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  antique  sculptors  sought  the  simple,  the 
dignified,  the  natural ;  beauty  was  their  aim  and  object.  Their  ideal  was  a 
quiet,  passionless  repose,  with  little  action,  little  insistence  of  parts.  Their 
gods  looked  down  upon  earth  through  the  noblest  forms  of  Phidias  with  se- 
renity, heedless  of  the  violent  struggles  of  humanity,  like  grand  and  peaceful 
presences.  But  here  in  these  Titans  of  Michelangelo  there  is  a  new  spirit 
—  better  or  worse,  it  is  new.  It  represents  humanity  caught  in  the  terrible 
net  of  Fate,  storming  the  heavens,  Prometheus-like,  breaking  forth  from  the 
bonds  of  convention,  and  terrible  as  grand. 

"  Every  man  has  a  right  to  be  judged  by  his  best.  It  is  not  the  number 
of  his  failures  but  the  value  of  his  successes  which  afford  the 'just  gauge  of 
every  man's  genius.  In  these  great  statues  Michelangelo  succeeded,  and  they 
are  the  highest  tide-mark  of  his  power  as  a  sculptor." 

MOSES  CHURCH      OF      SAN      PIETRO      IN      VINCOLi:      ROME 

THE  history  of  the  tomb  of  Pope  Julius  II.  has  been  outlined  in  the 
preceding  life  of  the  sculptor  (see  page  23).  According  to  Condivi's  ac- 
count of  the  original  design,  the  tomb  was  to  have  been  in  general  shape  a 
great  rectangle,  standing  isolated  in  the  tribune  of  St.  Peter's,  ornamented 
with  bronze  bas-reliefs  and  more  than  forty  statues.  The  lower  part,  or 
pedestal,  was  to  have  been  adorned  with  niches  containing  statues,  and 
against  the  pilasters  between  these  niches  were  to  have  stood  ten  figures  bound 
like  prisoners,  typifying  the  Liberal  Arts  as  taken  captive  by  the  pope's  death, 
since  they  would  never  find  such  another  patron.  The  platform  surmounting 
this  base  was  to  have  been  ornamented  by  four  heroic  figures,  one  of  which 
we  may  safely  identify  as  the  '  Moses.'  Above  this  platform,  on  a  second 


40  Jttagtergin&rt 

level,  was  to  have  stood  a  sarcophagus,  supported  by  angels.  After  the  pope's 
death  Michelangelo  modified  the  original  plan  in  some  particulars,  but  his 
specifications  for  this  second  scheme  are  not  sufficiently  explicit  to  enable  us 
to  reconstruct  it  with  any  accuracy.  The  only  figures  for  the  tomb  which 
Michelangelo  in  any  degree  completed  are  the  '  Moses,'  now  in  San  Pietro  in 
Vincoli,  and  the  two  *  Bound  Captives  '  of  the  Louvre. 

"  The  '  Moses,'  "  writes  Eugene  Guillaume,  "  would  alone  have  sufficed  to 
make  its  sculptor  forever  glorious.  It  sums  up  and  gives  the  measure  of  his 
art.  Moses  has  the  grandiose  aspect  of  the  prophets  in  the  Sistine  Chapel ; 
like  them  he  is  seated  on  a  throne-like  marble  chair.  His  attitude  expresses 
a  majestic  calm  and  breathes  the  authority  of  him  who  has  talked  alone  with 
God  within  the  cloud  on  Sinai.  His  eye,  looking  into  the  future,  seems  to 
foresee  the  continuance  of  his  race  and  the  permanence  of  those  mighty  laws 
engraven  upon  the  table  on  which  his  right  arm  leans.  But  the  repose  of 
the  law-giver  is  charged  with  animation  ;  he  is  ready  at  the  word  of  divine 
command  to  start  up  and  lead  his  people  forth.  The  character  of  the  Israel- 
ite race  is  strongly  marked  on  his  features,  and,  conforming  to  the  text  of 
Exodus,  his  forehead  bears  two  horns. 

"  The  dominant  notes  of  the  figure  are  grandeur,  vitality,  and  simplicity. 
It  matches  the  majestic  narrative  of  the  Bible.  Here  are  none  of  those  tor- 
ments under  which  the  slaves  and  the  figures  in  the  Medici  Chapel  writhe 
in  a  sort  of  grim  despair ;  but  instead  the  calm  energy  of  an  exalted  faith. 

'The  costume  of  Moses  has  been  criticised,  and  indeed  is  strange  in  some 
particulars,  but  detracts  in  no  way  from  the  aspect  of  the  work  as  a  whole. 
The  workmanship  is  of  an  extreme  perfection  ;  and  one  feels  that  Michel- 
angelo, brooding  over  his  design  for  the  great  tomb,  came  back  again  and 
again  to  this  statue  and  lavished  all  pains  upon  it.  With  the  exception  of 
the  '  II  Pensieroso,'  which  seems  a  conception  still  more  perfect,  saner,  and 
more  enduring  in  its  character,  it  is  his  masterpiece." 


THE      WORKS      OF      MICHELANGELO     IN    SCULPTURE,     WITH      THEIR      PRESENT 

LOCATION 

BELGIUM.  BRUGES,  CHURCH  OF  NOTRE  DAME:  Madonna  and  Child  (Plate  V)  — 
ENGLAND.  LONDON,  ROYAL  ACADEMY:  Madonna  and  Child  (bas-relief ) — LON- 
DON, SOUTH  KENSINGTON  MUSEUM:  Cupid  —  FRANCE.  PARIS,  LOUVRE:  Bound  Cap- 
tive (Plate  IV)  Bound  Captive  —  GERMANY.  BERLIN  MUSEUM:  St. John  (attributed) — 
ITALY.  BOLOGNA,  CHURCHOF  SAN  DOMENICO:  Kneeling  Angel ;  St.  Petronius  (drapery 
only)  —  FLORENCE,  ACADEMY:  David(Plate  I);  St.  Matthew  —  FLORENCE,  BOBOLI  GAR- 
DENS: Four  Unfinished  Figures  —  FLORENCE,  CASA  BUONARROTI:  Centaurs  (bas-relief); 
Madonna  and  Child  (bas-relief)  —  FLORENCE,  CATHEDRAL:  Descent  from  the  Cross — 
FLORENCE,  NATIONAL  MUSEUM:  Bacchus}  Brutus;  Madonna  and  Child,  bas-relief  (Plate 
III);  Apollo;  Adonis;  Victory — FLORENCE,  SACRISTY  OF  SAN  LORENZO:  Tombof  Lo- 
renzo de'  Medici  (Plates  VI,  VII);  Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici  (Plates  IX,  X);  Madonna 
and  Child  —  ROME,  ST.  PETER'S:  Pieta  (Plate  II)  —  ROME,  CHURCH  OF  SAN  PIETRO  IN 
VINCOLI:  Moses  (Plate  VIII) — ROME,  CHURCH  OF  SANTA  MARIA  SOPRA  MINERVA: 
Christ  with  the  Cross. 

NOTE  —  A  brief  list  of  the  principal  books  on  Michelangelo  will  be  found  in  the  next 
issue  of  this  SERIES,  in  which  his  works  in  painting  are  to  be  considered. 


MASTERS    IN    ART 


BIGELOW  KENNARD  &  CO. 

GOLDSMITHS,  SILVERSMITHS  AND 
IMPORTERS -DESIGNERS  0  MAKERS 
OF  FINE  HALL  0  MANTEL  CLOCKS 


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the  Easter  Exhibit  of 
Grueby  Pottery  including 
the  entire  collection  selected 
for  the  Buffalo  Exposition* 
1901 

7H WASHINGTON  STREET  BOSTON 


Established  1863 


The  Henry  F.  Miller 

Grand  and  Upright 

Pianofortes 


Noted  for  a  musical  quality  of  tone  which  many 
musicians  prefer  to  that  found  in  pianos  of  any 
other  manufacture.  Regardless  of  age,  and  usher  e- 
ever  found  throughout  the  entire  United  States, 
these  instruments  attract  attention  because  of  the 
sweet  singing-tone  so  much  desired  by  musicians  ; 
and  this  is  a  guarantee  to  the  purchaser  that  this 
beautiful  quality  of  tone  is  lasting  and  continues 
during  the  entire  life  of  the  piano. 

WAREROOMS 

88  Eoylston  Street,  Boston 
II2J  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia 


MASTERS    IN    ART 


BRAUN'S 
CARBON 
PRINTS 


•»  IOO,OOO  DIRECT  REPRODUCTIONS  FROM  THE  ORIGI- 
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THE  MOST  CELEBRATED  MASTERPIECES  BY  TITIAN 

NUMBER  300  ;  BY  HOLBEIN,  400  ;  BY  VELAS- 
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ETC.  «•»•»•  ILLUSTRATED  EXTRACT  FROM  OUR  GEN- 
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NO  OTHER   BRANCH   HOUSE   IN   AMERICA 


Visitors  to  New  York 


Are  cordially 
invitee  to  the 


exhibition  of  Paintings 

By  Corot,  Daubigny,  Dupre,  Diaz, 
Henner,  Jacque,  Meissonier,  Roybet, 
Rousseau,  Ziem,  Lely,  Mierevelt, 
Pourbus,  Mignard,  Nattier,  Reynolds, 
Lawrence,  Romney,  etc.,  in  the 

flrt  Galleries 


Of 


EDWARD    BRANDUS 


391  Fifth  Avenue 

Between  j6th  and  J7th  Streets 


Rue  de  la  Paix 
16 


New  York         Paris 


THE    GREAT    PICTURE    LIGHT 
IS   THAT    PROVIDED    BY 


OR 


System 


BURNT  WOOD 
ETCHING 

The  art  of  decorating  wood,  leather, 
or  cardboard  by  burning  the  design 
into  the  article  to  be  decorated 

# 

A  descriptive  booklet,  giving  directions, 
description  and  price  list  of  tools  and 
materials,  designs,  etc.,  will  be  sent 
free  upon  request 

* 

THAYER  &  CHANDLER 

IMPORTERS  AND    DEALERS    IN    ART 
GOODS  OF  EVERY  DESCRIPTION 

144-146  Wabash  Ave.,       Chicago,  111. 


of  IReflectors 


Can  be  applied  with  equal  success  to  large  or  small  galleries. 
It  is  used  for  lighting  the  following  places:  — 

The  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New 
York ;  The  Corcoran  Gallery,  Washing- 
ton ;  The  Art  Institute,  Chicago;  The  Carnegie  Galleries, 
Pittsburg;  Museum  of  Arts  and  Science,  Brooklyn;  Histor- 
ical Society,  Albany ;  School  of  Design,  Providence,  R.  I. 

Mr.  George  W.  Vanderbilt, 
Com.  Elbridge  T.  Gerry, 
Mr.  Charles  T.  Yerkes,  Mr.  M.  C.  D.  Borden,  and  Mr. 
James  W.  Ellsworth,  New  York ;  Mr.  Potter  Palmer,  Chi- 
cago; Mr.  Joseph  Jefferson,  Buzzard's  Bay;  P.  A.  B. 
Wiedener,  Wm.  L.  Elkins,  John  Wanamaker,  Philadelphia. 

Messrs.     Du- 

rand-Ruel,  M. 

Knoedler  &  Co.,  Boussod,  Valadon  &  Co.,  Eugene  Fischof, 
Blakeslee  &  Co.,  Ortgies  &  Co.,  Montross  &  Co.,  Arthur 
ir^oth  &  Sons,  C.  W.  Krauschaar,  Herman  Wunderlich, 
anu  Julius  Oehme,  New  York;  Edward  Brandus,  New 
York  and  Paris  ;  Charles  Sedelmeyer,  Paris. 

Correspondence  invited. 
Telephone:  860  Franklin 

I.  P.  FRINK,  551  Pearl  St.,  New  York. 

GEORGE  FRINK  SPENCER,  Manager. 


Picture  Dealers'  Galleries : 


14  DAY  USE 


RETURN        CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 


j>UE  AS  STAMPED  BEI  ouT 

M4T30/999 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


OF  CALIhJWNIA.  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY.  CA  94720  6000 


c 


37693 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


glisb  Fjous 
old  furniture 


Mainly  designed  by  Chippenda 
Sheraton,  Adam,  ^  others  of  the 

GEORGIAN 


ONE  HV  N  D  R  E  D  A  L  B  E  R  T  Y  P  E 

ii  x  14  inches,  showing  348  pieces  photographed  a 
exhibition  recently  held  under  the  auspic  of  the  South 
Kensington  Museum*  To  this  exhibition  werejcc^il|ated 
the  finest  authentic  examples  from  the  richest  collections 
in  the  United  Kingdom.  We  cari  offer  this  work  as  one 
of  the  best  upon  the  subject  of  what  is  known  in  tills 
country  as 

C  O  L  O  N  1  A  L   F  U  R|l| 


The  plates  are  supplied  either  unbound  in 

folio  with  title-page  and  index  or  bound  in 

morocco. 

PR.ICE  t        Portfolio.  $10.00.        Boun 


42  e&auucy  Street  «  B      t,  Itta$$a*&iif*W 


